


Pictures

by technicolorCarbon



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Mental Illness, Runawaystuck, Running away from home, Sadstuck, although it's mild, although not really, does this qualify?, i guess, idk like depression, of the sexual kind, self-injury, uhhh, wow that's a lot of tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolorCarbon/pseuds/technicolorCarbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You ever think about running away?"<br/>You snort. “That’s gotta be the most cliché question ever, dude. You know how many angsty teen books and movies have that exact question? All the ones that aren’t worth it, that’s how many.”<br/>He looks at you, used to your constant rambling, and you can see that somewhere in his deep blue eyes, is a glint of seriousness. He’s asking you to run away with him. And he means it.</p>
<p>Two years, nine hundred pictures later, what was lost turns up completely different.</p>
<p>“Stay here tonight.”<br/>The <i>please</i> is unspoken, but still audible<br/>“Wouldn’t dream of going elsewhere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a weird conglomeration of AU's that I'm currently calling picturestuck, just because I need something to call it ^^;
> 
> More integral information will be shared as the story progresses, but for now, John is 15, Dave is almost 18, Rose is almost 17, and Jade is turning 19. John skipped a buncha grades 'n stuff 'cause he's smart, and Jade is bumming around and taking college classes in between volunteering at the local animal shelter. They all grew up in California together, and (minus Jade) they're in grade 11.

Bro is the one to answer the door when the knock sounds, but it’s you he calls to deal with the unexpected visitor.

When you get there, you see why.

John is carrying his backpack, haphazardly slung over one shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and still watery.

“…Sup.”

He finally looks up to your face, and the hurt you see there is something you’d honestly never expected to see from him. Jade, maybe. Rose, more likely. But John?

“Hey.”

You stand aside wordlessly, because what kind of a friend wouldn’t let him in when he so obviously needed somewhere to go?

“Dad and I got into a fight,” he explains unhelpfully as he dumps his bag in the corner of your room. Bro is fuck knows where, but you close the door anyways. Damn ninjas.

“About…?”

He shrugs, faces away from you. “Stuff.”

You wait for an explanation that doesn’t come, and grab his shoulder when the silence grows uncomfortable. “John, seriously.”

He won’t meet your eyes.

“I don’t wanna see my psychologist anymore.”

You frown. “But dude, you need one. I mean, no offense, but you wouldn’t be there unless you did.”

He pulls out of your grip, pushes the window open and leans out. “You have a cigarette?”

You grab your pack from the dresser and hand it to him wordlessly, lighter balanced on top, and he lights up, setting the rest of them on the windowsill and leaning out. “Thanks.”

You wait again. He’ll talk, you know, you haven’t been best friends for 9 years for nothing.

“I told him stuff’s been happening- my dad, I mean –and he won’t believe me. He told me to stop making stuff up. It’s okay to not like him, but saying shit like that could get Dr. G fired, and god, no, we don’t want that.” His voice drips venom by the end, and you lean against the bed, silently watching him smoke. You’ve honestly never heard him this upset.

“I’ve been seeing him since I was _9_ , god, and I haven’t gotten any better,- don’t you think there’s _something_ wrong with that? Fucking- there’s a _reason_ for it, goddamnit! And now, fucking _now_ , when I finally fucking _tell someone_ , he doesn’t believe me.”

You slip a cigarette out of the pack and take the lighter, taking a long pull once you get it lit. Bro doesn’t give a shit, so you usually smoke in your room anyways.

“The hell are you talking about, ‘Bert?”

He shakes his head, leaning further out the window and letting the thin white cylinder dangle from his fingertips. “Shit. Stupid shit. Dunno why I’m getting all bent out of shape over it- doesn’t matter anyways.”

You elbow him lightly, leaning out the window with him. “Matters to me.”

He lets the silence drag out a long while, and you’re quite aware he intends to drop the matter entirely.

“You ever think about running away?”

You snort. “That’s gotta be the most cliché question ever, dude. You know how many angsty teen books and movies have that exact question? All the ones that aren’t worth it, that’s how many.”

He looks at you, used to your constant rambling, and you can see that somewhere in his deep blue eyes, is a glint of seriousness. 

He’s asking you to run away with him. And he means it.

You ask anyways. “You serious?”

He looks back away, takes the last drag of his cigarette and puts it out on his arm- _jesus, that’s gotta hurt_ -, flicks the butt out into the yard you share with the other tenants in the apartment and shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Rose doesn’t like it, but she isn’t gonna stop me. And Jade has to stay for school, but she said I can stay at any of her places if I’m close, and she’ll talk to friends for me. I’m not gonna be homeless.”

You study his profile, no longer judging if he’s serious or not, -you know he is- just watching him. Memorizing him. Like you’re going to lose him.

“Stay here tonight.”

The _please_ is unspoken, but still audible.

“Wouldn’t dream of going elsewhere.”

When you wake up in the morning, there’s a dreamlike pressure on your lips, and wind blowing through your room from where he left the window open. His bag is gone from the corner, and your camera is missing from its shelf.

You can’t bring yourself to mind too terribly.


	2. Chapter 2

“John?”

The teacher’s aide looks helpless as he searches the rows of desks for a face you know he won’t find. John left a month ago, and you haven’t spoken to him since. Rose says she hasn’t spoken to him either, but you both know that Jade has. All she’ll say is that he isn’t dead.

You hope there isn’t a silent ‘yet’ on the end of that.

Mr. Egbert had been frantic the first two weeks, searching restlessly for his son, putting up posters and calling the police, and the neighbours had been helpful, organizing search parties and putting ads online about the missing teen, but as the days had gone by, interest had dwindled, until it was only his immediate friends and family who even registered that he was gone anymore.

It bothers you a lot more now to see just how few people actually cared, whether you knew what had really happened or not.

You’d almost caved once or twice, when Mr Egbert had called nearly in tears to ask if you knew something, anything at all about where John had gone, but you’d managed to keep the façade up, told and retold the lie you’d practiced ceaselessly since he had gone, and kept your own tears internal.

(For the most part.)

Well, you’d gotten out of school for a while. Apparently the shock of losing a friend, whether to some horrible murder or kidnap case, running away, or just to a random disappearance, was shocking enough to warrant a month-long vacation. You’d enjoyed about the first week, then gotten absolutely sick of getting pitying looks and empty words of consolation as if he had died, and ended the break yourself.

Jade still hadn’t returned to school, but you know that’s only because she’s busy with the animal hospital she’s been working at since she was 16.

Rose, of course, was the picture of perfected grieving, using every weapon in her arsenal to get exactly what she wanted from the people around her. You don’t think she’s had to carry her books or do actual homework once since John left.

Class drags on per usual, even more dry and dull without your best friend to endlessly chirp dumb jokes in your ear or mock, but you survive until the lunch bell.

yo tz   
meet me outside you psycho

Her reply is surprisingly quick, considering she’s got second lunch and should theoretically be in class right now, but you’re not sure you want to know where she is, so you don’t ask.

W4Y 4H34D OF YOU, MR STR4WB3RRY W4T3RM3LON CRUNCH. >:]

Well, the nickname could be worse. At least her grammar had improved slightly since starting high school.

dont you dare bring the shouty tool   
i like my hearing intact thanks

WHY D4V3, 1 THOUGHT YOU TWO GOT 4LONG R4TH3R W3LL L4ST T1M3 W3 W3R3 TOG3TH3R!

Yeah, if you count just barely not ripping each other’s throats out ‘R4TH3R W3LL’.

not in the mood today

She doesn’t reply, but it doesn’t matter, because you can see her anyways, bright teal tube top and red boots making her stick out even more than her candy-red walking stick or the dragon backpack. ‘Scalemate’, she keeps correcting you.

(You couldn't care less.)

She has her tongue stuck out already, tasting the air, (you’re still not sure how much of that is bullshit, designed to scare the grade 9’s, and how much is serious) and she latches onto your sleeve the second you’re beside her.

“So, Strider. Finally coming down off your high horse to ditch class with me again?”

You roll your eyes, and you know she knows, because her smile sharpens even more. “Nah. Just figured your withdrawal would be getting to the unbearable point by now, and I should take pity on you lesser beings. Look at how generous I am, shit. I should start collecting for visits.”

She shakes her head fondly and jabs her cane into your leg, holding the handle towards you. “Be a dear and carry this for me, huh?”

She’s got you trained, you admit, and you accept it without complaint, hanging it over your arm and feeling just the tiniest bit like a pimp. She pats your arm and takes the lead, steering you smoothly out the front doors, and you snort at the idea of being lead by a blind kid. Not that you’d know, if nobody had told you. She’s obnoxious and hyperactive enough to more than make up for it.

“How do you feel about the park, blondie?”

You shrug, and she smacks you, smirking. “I can’t see it if you nod! Don't be so insensitive, asshole!”

You end up at the park anyways, words or not. She always manages.


End file.
